Days of Summer
by LaPenseur
Summary: A series of oneshots set between Kurt and Blaine's junior and senior years, focusing on steps in the relationship and quiet moments, too. Ranges from fluffy to odd to angsty.
1. Hands

**A/N: Well. Hello. This'll be a slow-update series that's just supposed to be a bit of fun. **

**Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to its respective owner.**

**For Mytay. Because she's awesome and I wouldn't be writing this without her.**

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><p>1. Hands<p>

"Kurt." A simple statement, spoken through soft lips.

"Okay, I know this looks bad. I do. But it's not, Blaine. Really. It's happened before. I just need to soak it for a bit, and it'll be okay." Kurt paced around his room, his face contorted between worry and pain. Blaine folded his legs beneath him.

"Kurt." It wasn't demanding an explanation, merely a calm mixture of letters.

"_Really_. I'll be fine. I just pushed myself a little too hard with the piano and—"

"—now you can't move your fingers."

"Yes."

"I see. And you couldn't have practiced in moderation because…?"

"I… Well… There was this one passage and I just _knew_ I could get it if I just tried a few more times, and a few turned into—"

"—four hours?" A lovely blush made its way across Kurt's cheek and down his neck.

"Six, actually." Blaine pressed his lips together very, very tightly and looked up at Kurt from his position on the bench. "Please don't laugh at me. The passage sounds absolutely _divine_." Blaine's expression softened at Kurt's minor embarrassment. He stood slowly and made his way over to his boyfriend, gripping his shoulders and looking Kurt straight in the eye.

"You're an idiot. Come on, let's sort your hands out." Blaine led him to the bathroom and began running warm water into a basin.

"Blaine, you don't have to do this." The boyfriend in question raised an eyebrow and quirked a smile.

"Yes, actually, I do." Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but Blaine was already shaking his head. "Stop. I'm your boyfriend and I love you and it would make me happy for you to not be in pain. Is that alright?" Kurt swallowed, an awed look coming over his face. They'd said it before. They'd said it after the first time in the Lima Bean, too. It still didn't fail to amaze Kurt. Blaine had said it so _easily_. It rolled right off his tongue and out in the open like it was so obvious. Kurt felt tears prick his eyes at the few small words and immediately felt silly, because they _had _said it before, so he coughed and replied,

"Y-yes. Thank you." Blaine's eyebrows twitched ever so slightly, but he smiled, satisfied, and sat Kurt down on the seat of the toilet.

"Where do you keep the painkillers?" The intent look was enough to stifle Kurt's rebuff this time, so he just nodded to the cabinet and watched as Blaine clacked out what he deemed the appropriate amount and went to pour a glass of water from the kitchen.

"What did I do to deserve you?" Kurt muttered to himself, swallowing roughly to combat the tears that were still threatening even as warmth bloomed in his chest. He looked down at his mangled hands and sighed. He really hadn't meant to push himself to this degree, but the summer had been hard thus far. The heat disrupted his skin and Blaine rehearsed most days with a musical theatre group that was based in Westerville. Kurt went to visit as often as he could, but he rarely had time to stop and chat anyway. The only time they had was for the few hours that he came by afterwards to share their stories of the day, and now it was being wasted on his hands, which throbbed at the slightest movement. Which had been aching since he'd had the presence of mind to lift his fingers from the keys. Fat, embarrassing tears rolled down his face, and he tried to wipe them away, but his hands protested and that just caused them to run faster.

"Oh my god, Kurt." Blaine's voice was tender as he set down the water on the counter and knelt by the crying boy, pressing his hands lightly on the younger boy's knees.

"I don't even know why I"—Kurt sucked in a shuddering breath—"why this is _happening_. I just… You're so _wonderful_ and _caring_ and I know you wanted to look through the new Vogue tonight but you're _here_ and you're not even complaining a _little_ bit that I've gone and ruined with my obsessive need to be _perfect_ and now I'm here _crying_ for no reason and—"

Kurt's brain took a little time to process things when his boyfriend kissed him. It was a problem he'd been having for a few months now. Even if the kiss was light and chaste and tear-marked.

"Kurt."

"Yes?"He looked up to meet Blaine's eyes, brain still reeling. He could just stare into those hazel eyes forever…

"We can look at Vogue tomorrow." Kurt's nodded slowly, still dazed, the pain in his hands receding to a dull throb as Blaine's eyes and cheeks and nose and _mouth_ took precedence.

"Right." He swallowed.

"You're going to take these pills now." Blaine stood, taking the pills in one hand and the glass of water in the other. Kurt blinked. "Open your mouth and tilt your head back."

"I can hold the—"

Two fingers lifted his chin and a thumb smoothed over his still-moving lips, parting them slightly and pressing the cool surface of the glass against them. Kurt promptly forgot why he was complaining about _anything_ this boy did, and swallowed the pills.

Blaine moved away, shutting the water off and putting the basin on the floor by Kurt's feet, motioning for Kurt to sit on the floor. He saw Kurt's lips twitch momentarily and Blaine grinned.

"You keep this bathroom immaculate, Kurt. The floor cannot possibly be dirty."

Oh, what Blaine wouldn't do to keep Kurt blushing like that.

Blaine sat across from Kurt, taking his hands gingerly, careful not to aggravate the cramps, and submerged them in the water. The sigh that escaped Kurt's mouth was full-throated and came accompanied with a flutter of eyelashes. Blaine had to swallow roughly to keep his thoughts focused on the task at hand. It was a harder battle than Blaine would've liked to admit.

Kurt's eyes flew open as Blaine began gently massaging his sore joints beneath the water. He looked at Blaine's face, but there was a look of concentration there that was just _too cute_, so Kurt didn't try to catch his eye, merely smiling as warmth unfurled in his chest at the gesture. He found himself wondering how Blaine could be so patient. He started with Kurt's right hand, knowing that most of the pieces that Kurt liked to play were melody-heavy, and lightly kneaded each knuckle with infinitesimal care, moving down the bone to the pads of each finger, then back up until he reached the dip of his wrist. Somewhere around the middle finger of his right hand, Kurt leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, immersed in the sensation as the painkillers slowly kicked in and Blaine coaxed movement and feeling back into his hands.

When Blaine reached the web of tendon between his pinkie and ring finger, Kurt let out a slow moan, and Blaine's hands stilled for a moment before moving again. Kurt blushed furiously as Blaine applied little circles of pressure to the same spot, revisiting it more often than he had the others. He refused to open his eyes, hoping that Blaine wouldn't notice his utterly humiliating outburst. It was one thing to let those noises escape him while he and Blaine were doing absolutely spectacular things with their tongues, when they were _trying_ to bring them out of each other. It was quite another to let one loose during this selfless, domestic act of _beauty_ and _wonder_ that Blaine was giving him. Quite another indeed.

But, of course, Blaine had noticed. After a while, he looked up to see Kurt's eyes screwed shut—not peacefully closed as they had before—and tension in his neck and shoulders.

"Kurt?" The boy in question took in a shuddering breath and opened his eyes slowly. Blaine frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I… um. It's nothing, really." Blaine opened his mouth to protest that it _wasn't_ nothing, but then he looked closer—at the way Kurt kept glancing away from him, at the blush that still had not receded, at the way all the tension was held in his chest—and found himself fighting a smile. He felt Kurt's hands twitch between his, another sign. He looked exactly like the Kurt he'd faced after they'd had their horrendous failure of a sex talk.

And because he looked the same, Blaine Anderson knew he had to be very careful with what he was about to say. So he completely smothered the smile and held his boyfriend's hands more securely between his.

"Kurt, I don't want you to be embarrassed," he began, watching as Kurt's blush returned with full force and the younger boy look down at their interlocked hands. "This"—he gave Kurt's hands a light squeeze—"Does it feel good?" Kurt nodded slowly, still refusing to meet Blaine's eyes. "Good. It should. I want it to. There is nothing shameful in reacting to touch, Kurt. No matter what kind it is." Blaine pressed on the sensitive web again and watched as Kurt's throat bobbed in reaction and let out a soft sigh. "And at the very basic level, it lets me know I'm doing my job properly." He went for it. His most charming, caring, inviting smile he had in his arsenal, dipping his head to meet Kurt's eyes, and was rewarded with a soft smile in return.

"Why are you so wise?"Kurt didn't think about it before he said it, but it couldn't be more true. Blaine may have said that he didn't know what he was doing, that he was muddling through just like everyone else, but Kurt couldn't help but note that he did so with much more finesse than anyone else he'd met. And, sure, Blaine screwed up, but when he was wrong he acknowledged it and he always did his best to say what he meant, to build something with the people he loved—_like me_, Kurt thought with a thrill—and tried to keep himself as grounded as possible.

Blaine coughed lightly, blinking. "I don't know. Why are you so beautiful?" Before Kurt could respond, Blaine brought their hands out of the water and pressed Kurt's knuckles to his lips, allowing his eyes to close before smiling and continuing with the joints he hadn't reached yet.

Kurt decided it was best not to answer, and simply leaned back and enjoyed the fact that his boyfriend was amazing. Blaine did manage to bring some more embarrassing sounds out of Kurt before he finished, and Kurt's face always turned the color of ripe cherries, but it was accompanied by a shared smile and an understanding.

But only Kurt knew that the understanding involved revenge.


	2. Bruises

**A/N: Angst warning. Because I was in the mood. That being said, I've never written angst before, so apologies for weirdness and issues that may come up. There may be shifts from past to present tense. I edited most of them out, but some I think that I missed. If you find any inconsistencies, please let me know, because the muscle in my brain that keeps track of that sort of thing decided to go on vacation and maybe you can help coax it back. (=**

**Disclaimer: Anyone you recognize doesn't belong to me. Wren, Ian, Jerome, Trey, and Jake are mine, and will probably come back later.**

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><p>2. Bruises<p>

Kurt tapped the steering wheel impatiently at the red light, pursing his lips at the Westerville traffic designers. He had the directions to Blaine's theater company's rehearsal space, and he'd been there a few times in the past, but it was a _chore_ to get there without breaking any laws. Which he didn't. Because his father had given him a talk about vehicles that would shake up a full-grown man, let alone a nine-year-old boy. So Kurt drove safely. Impatiently, but safely. His rational side argued that Blaine's director had a rather lax sense of time, and he could arrive thirty minutes late and still manage to beat the director. This knowledge didn't make enduring the traffic any easier.

At least the scenery here was nicer, Kurt thought. Flora and trees dotted the plain Ohio landscape as opposed to the Lima cut-and-dry. He even saw a small park on the way there, complete with a playground and benches and a gazebo. Kurt loved a good gazebo. Kurt made one of the many turns—there _must_ be an easier way to get to the building—and said goodbye to the pretty scenery as he moved into one of the more built-up areas.

He was close now. In fact, he could probably just park here and walk the rest of the way, but Kurt didn't know the neighborhood at all, so he continued to navigate the horrendous streets.

As it turned out, this choice saved his life.

Kurt stopped—_again_—at an intersection, and checked his directions. He only had to turn at the next light and he would be there. _With Blaine_. Kurt felt a smile split his face and butterflies settle low in his stomach. They never went away, the butterflies. Not in all the months they had been dating. Kurt tapped on his steering wheel. It was then that he heard the raucous noise of lowlifes with endless opinions.

Kurt glanced up through his eyelashes at the pavement outside. Five or six big-looking guys sauntered down the street. A few carried baseball bats, but none were in sporting gear. They were tough and confident, throwing back jokes and insults in loud, deep voices. Kurt swallowed carefully, thankful for the walls of the SUV around him, and checked the name of the street he was supposed to be turning on one last time before the light turned green. He wasn't scared, not really. Years of experience had taught him to be cautious despite the fact that he knew they couldn't see him or his fabulous outfit. Constant awareness of possibly dangerous people was something that Kurt prided himself on.

He drove forward carefully, as usual, until he realized that the noise of the lowlifes could still be heard, that he would have noticed them long before he did if they had just been walking up the street from a few blocks away. But they hadn't. They had come from the street that Kurt was heading towards.

Kurt floored it.

Adrenaline surged through his body, his vision sharpening as Kurt weaved through the traffic with his cumbersome SUV. Cars began to honk. Kurt couldn't care less. He knew, in some reasonable back part of his mind, that the guys he'd seen could have been coming from somewhere else, that it didn't necessarily point to Blaine beaten and bloodied—

Kurt swung the final turn. Because he knew that the only place of interest to a group like that would be the rehearsal space of a high school musical theater company. What else would there be? The area was cheap, full of abandoned warehouses and 24-hour convenience stores. Kurt tried to desperately not to remember whether there was blood on those baseball bats. Breath came cold and hard in his lungs, making him shiver.

He parked his SUV haphazardly across the street from the building and flew out of the car, running into the parking lot reserved for the actors and crew. A sour feeling filled his gut at the sight of the cars. Some were left alone, but not by choice, it seemed. Most of them had their windows smashed or sides keyed. He sucked in a breath that burned down his throat, weaving through the cars.

"Come on, man. Wake _up!_"

"Blaine!_ Blaine_! He's not breathing. Someone _did_ call 911, right?"

Kurt followed the noises, not quite hearing or seeing anything after the frantic calls of his boyfriend's name. He ran through the parking lot and up the few stairs to the small concrete porch where six or seven people stood crowded around. Some held phones, others seemed to be serving as lookouts.

"Who are you?" The girl who asked the question was thin and wiry, and she looked at Kurt with eyes that screamed of terror. She had a bruise on her bare collarbone and one on her arm.

"I'm… Kurt. I'm Kurt. I'm… Where's Blaine?" Kurt gulped in air and took a few steps toward the group. The girl took a step forward to meet him, shoulders squared, fists clenched, but she still looked terrified.

"Wren, who is that?"

"_Kurt?_" Kurt looked up. The voice was familiar, but not the one he wanted to hear. His mind placed it before the rest of him could catch up.

"Jeff. Jeff! Hey. I… Where's Blaine? I saw the… Where's Blaine?" Kurt jumped toward the Warbler, who made a quick hand gesture at the girl—Wren, Kurt's brain helpfully pointed out—and took his shoulder, pulling him through the people. Jeff, he noted with a twist in his chest, sported three clear bruises across his face. The poor private school boy didn't look that shaken, however, which was something that confused Kurt.

"He's inside. He's not"—Jeff cleared his throat—"He's conscious. He's just not… in a good way."

"They said he wasn't breathing," Kurt mumbled as he followed Jeff through the doors.

"Oh, no, that's… Jerome. Jerome's not breathing. Blaine knows his parents. Knew how to contact them." Kurt's vision cleared ever so slightly and he heaved out a sigh. They made their way through a small hallway and then into a well-lit, open room. Props and light gels were scattered everywhere. Some of the more threatening ones, such as brooms and slapsticks, were in a pile close to the door.

"Jeffrey. Visitors now? Really?" An older woman with an odd accent walked up to the two boys. She had a cell phone in one hand and an empty first-aid kit in the other. It seemed, however, that she didn't have time for an answer, and swept right past them.

A few other people his age were huddled in a tight-knit group on the opposite end of the room, talking quietly. Kurt scanned their heads, but found no gelled-down curls, so he continued his silent search.

"He's over there. I've gotta get back." Jeff pointed and then walked out, but Kurt was already running across the room to Blaine, who was sitting with another boy. Neither of them looked up until Kurt kneeled next to them, hands fluttering by his sides, unsure of what to do.

"Who are—"

"_Kurt_."

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but found out very soon that it was something that he was quite incapable of doing, looking at the myriad of purple and blue that blossomed against his boyfriend's face, neck, shoulders, and arms. Kurt could only manage a strangled sob. He knew what bruises that color felt like. He'd been pushed into lockers and thrown into dumpsters long enough to know the stinging, never-ending sensation of bruises that looked like _that_. The other boy held a bloodied tissue, which he pressed against the side of Blaine's face, occasionally pulling it back to check.

"The idiot ran right into the middle of them when they started beating on Ian and Jerome," the other boy said tersely. "He's lucky he didn't get any bones broken. Those guys had _bats_, Blaine," he chided. Beneath his swollen skin, Blaine's eyes flickered.

"Kurt, are you okay? They didn't get you too, did they?" Kurt shook his head silently, slipping his hand into Blaine's. Had he been thinking straight, he would have retorted with something along the lines of Blaine's silly priorities. As it was, Kurt's eyes swam with gut-deep sympathy, but he forced himself together. Blaine seemed to be keeping the pain under control, but he'd recognize that mask on anyone, anywhere. He'd seen it too many times in the mirror to not notice. Swallowing, he turned to the other boy.

"Can I take him ho—to my house? I've got medicine. What I—er—can he be moved?" The other boy blinked at Kurt, apparently still unsure of who he was, before looking at Blaine, his face painted with worry.

"I don't know. I'd ask Trey—he's our stage manager—but he's kind of busy with Jerome and Ian." He paused, frowning. "Um. Sure. I… sure. You good with that, Blaine?" Blaine nodded, staring at his and Kurt's intertwined hands with a dazed expression.

"Tell Trey."

"I will. Should I tell him you're not coming in tomorrow, too?"

"No. Thanks, Jake. I'll be here tomorrow." Kurt's lips twitched, wondering if he should convince Blaine to take the day off, but he knew how Blaine was with his theater kids. He'd show up to rehearsal in an oxygen mask if necessary. Jake just nodded, squeezed Blaine's shoulder, and stood, taking Blaine's other hand to help him up. Kurt felt a twinge of something bitter and dark green in the back of his mind, but pushed it aside, assisting Jake in getting Blaine to his feet. The bruised boy wobbled, clutching both of their hands tighter. Instinctively, Kurt swung an arm around Blaine's waist, shifting his weight to support him.

"It's just a head rush. I've been sitting too long," he muttered. The force on Kurt's shoulder spoke otherwise.

"You've been sitting for a total of ten minutes, Blaine. Shut up and let us help you," Jake snapped. Kurt glared at him for the retort, but lowered his gaze when he actually looked at the other boy. His eyes were flicking nervously from side to side and there were spots of color high in his cheeks. Jake, too, sported a bruise on an arm. He walked Kurt and Blaine to the door before muttering something about talking to Trey. He said a quick goodbye to both of them before running down a different hall.

Wren gave Kurt a sour look when she saw them, but she helped him get Blaine own the stairs, murmuring quietly in the older boy's ear. Blaine nodded and smiled at the small girl, but the lack of focus in his eyes worried Kurt, and he was soon hurried across the parking lot and into the Navigator. Kurt settled him in the passenger seat, strapping him in. He looked around quickly before pressing his lips against Blaine's forehead, which had somehow escaped harm.

"Blaine. I'm going to get you out of here as quickly as I can, but I need to you to look at me. Actually look at me," he amended when Blaine stared aimlessly at him. His eyes sharpened, but only a little. Kurt wanted to weep. "Jake said you hadn't broken anything. Was he right? Do I need to take you to the hospital?" Blaine took a deep breath and winced, holding eye contact with his boyfriend as he shook his head.

"It's just bruises, Kurt. I'll be okay." Kurt wanted to tell him that it was not "just bruises." He wanted to say that it was okay to cry, that it was just him, that he didn't have to pretend with him, the boy who had broken down in front of him on the first day they had met. But then Blaine's face closed off again, and he just looked ahead blankly. Kurt sighed and shut the car door, proceeding to get them out of the area, speeding horrendously. His father, Kurt thought, probably wouldn't mind.

Blaine didn't speak until they were outside the city limits.

The hour-long drive out of Westerville was punctuated only when Kurt changed the CD from Andrew Bird to The Beatles. Kurt spent the rest of the time trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach when Blaine didn't sing along. It's perfectly reasonable, he tried to tell himself. Blaine's holding himself together _for Kurt_, and that just means closing off from the outside world, even if it's Blaine's second favorite CD (Kurt thinks the Katy Perry disk he's got stashed in his glove compartment would be inappropriate). Kurt _knows_ that he was in pain and just wanted to hide for a bit. So Kurt let him.

Five minutes into Lima, Blaine spoke.

"Kurt. Pull over, please?" He asked, his voice choked with something Kurt didn't recognize. It wasn't tears, because even though Kurt had never seen Blaine cry, he knew it wouldn't sound like it did then. But he pulled into the shoulder and switched the engine off. Before Kurt could look up, Blaine was out of his seat and the car, staggering out into the completely un-picturesque fields that characterized the outskirts of Lima. Kurt clambered out after him, leaping over the passenger seat and into the field. Alarm bells clamoring in his head, Kurt opened his mouth to ask him something, anything, but before he could Blaine was doubled over, making awful sounds as he emptied his stomach into the dry grass.

Something deep and essential to himself recoiled at the sight and sound, the smell of bile mixed with something that Kurt didn't want to indentify, because there was something distinctly coffee-like about it and he could feel his own gorge rising.

But then the horrible liquid noise stopped, replaced with dry retching and breathless, tearless sobs and Kurt found his heart breaking for the boy who was stumbling back into him and Kurt held him so close that he was sure he'd be aggravating the injuries but he didn't care and neither did Blaine because he turned and clutched at Kurt, his blunt nails dragging against his back and shoulders and he smelled like coffee and sweat and acid but Kurt pretended he didn't mind and on some very basic level he didn't because Blaine needed him and that was enough. He kind of even thrilled at the realization that Blaine was finally, finally letting him be the hero.

So he rocked him and pressed small kisses to Blaine's neck and whispered silly things that didn't mean anything, because anything that meant something would be too much.

"How do you do it, Kurt? Last time… Last time I could just leave. But I can't now. I _can't_. There's a show and Jerome and Ian and Jake and Jeff." He coughed drily. "Even Wren. How do you go back?" Blaine sounded desperate and lost and Kurt had never seen him like this, with his legs knocked out from under him _needing_ someone else's help. Kurt wanted to be able to say the right thing, the perfect thing that would pick Blaine back up and fill him with confidence, with purpose. He wanted to be able to say something like what Blaine said to him on the day they first met. But he wasn't Blaine and all he could think of was "courage." That seemed so paltry and fake, though. How could he tell the beaten boy in his arms to suck it up and move on? It would be callous at best and Kurt didn't want to cause him any more pain. So he went with honesty, because while it might not be the best thing, it's what he's always done with Blaine and what Blaine had always done with him.

"I don't know. I really don't. But you will. Because you love it, and you won't let anything—even something like this—stop you from doing something you love." He paused as Blaine shuddered in a breath. "You taught me that."

And then Blaine was actually crying, hot tears falling into Kurt's neck in a torrent. He was quiet about it, but not in a way that worried Kurt. He had been worried that Blaine would've hidden behind his mask for too long and Kurt would have had to claw him back out. This way… It wasn't easy, but it could've been so much worse that Kurt found himself smiling against Blaine's hair.

The tears didn't stop, not really, but both boys knew that they needed to be getting to Kurt's house, and Kurt felt Blaine's blood on his neck, and, really, this field smelled awful. Kurt went into his car and brought out a water bottle so Blaine could clear some of the bile out of his mouth. The other half Kurt made the older boy drink, muttering something about dehydration, even though both of them knew that Kurt really wanted to use it to wash the blood off of his neck. Neither one mentioned it. Blaine just smiled tiredly, making a face when Kurt stared at him until he downed the entire bottle in measured gulps. Then Kurt kissed the top of his head and clambered into the car from the passenger's side, taking Blaine's hand once the bruised boy followed.

The rest of the trip was much more relaxed, and Kurt did his best to coax the odd smile out of Blaine. It wasn't good—Kurt doubted that it would be good for a while now—but it was better. Kurt could even hear Blaine singing along when _Blackbird_ began playing.


	3. Nightmares

**A/N: I see what you did there. Yeah, you. I saw it and immediately threw all my essays to the wayside to write this. All the love to you. Don't worry, though. I've been sleeping some.**

**For everyone else: I am sorry for not updating sooner. I do have plenty of ideas for what is to come, it's just finding the time to write them down.**

**Set four or five days after _Bruises_; three weeks after _Hands_. So much fluff you might die. Possibly dialogue-heavy. Highly possibly awkwardly worded. Written between the hours of midnight and 2am without much editing. Apologies.**

**Disclaimer: No character in this chapter is mine.**

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><p>3. Nightmares<p>

_Can I come over?_

"Kurt, your phone buzzed!" Finn lobbed the fragile iPhone at his now-squawking brother who moved the pan off the heat of the stove and scuttled to catch it.

"Dude. I know how to aim. I'm the – "

" – quarterback, yes, I know. However, _if __you __throw __my __phone __again __I __will __eviscerate __you._ Are we clear?" Finn saluted in a manner that would've had Kurt suspicious had he been a year and a half younger. "Where did you learn to move your hand like that?" he asked, tapping out his password. Glancing up, he saw Finn raising his eyebrows.

_My parents left town on business and the house is too empty._

"Where do you think?"

Without deigning to respond, Kurt pointed to the pan for Finn to supervise and slipped into the living room, where Burt and Carole were sitting and talking quietly. A sitcom about an over-privileged family with a disproportionate amount of drama whirred in the background.

_I don't mind sleeping on the couch._

"Can Blaine come over?"

"Sure."

"For how long?" Carole glanced reprovingly at her husband.

_Please?_

Kurt pressed his lips together before answering. A belligerent response bubbled up out of sheer habit, but he swallowed it. Blaine had been doing well, surprisingly well, but he had done so by surrounding himself with people who loved him. Kurt didn't want to leave him alone in his too-big house with nothing but memories of the previous week.

"For the night. His parents are out and he doesn't want to be alone." The lines around his father's eyes softened, and he nodded twice. Kurt felt the familiar pull of gratitude so very often directed at his father.

"Of course, but you know the rules." Kurt smiled wanly. Not that he would have tried to ask if Blaine could spend the night with him instead of downstairs. But if they had _accidentally_ fallen asleep on his bed while watching a cheesy movie, then so be it. From Burt's face, though, it seemed like even that wasn't an option.

"I do. Thanks, Dad." Maybe it would work if they were both on the couch.

_Should I come get you?_

Wary of leaving his phone on a surface, Kurt tucked it into his sleeve – there was no way it would fit into his pocket – and went back to preparing dinner for his family. The stir-fry, a late dinner for Burt and Carole, hadn't suffered too terribly under Finn's supervision. But that was mostly because his brother had opted to watch it rather than attempting anything that could be a potential explosion.

"Kurt, what's with the green BMW? Isn't that Blaine's car?"

The doorbell rang.

_Um. Not strictly necessary._

Smiling wryly, Kurt gestured for Finn to open the door. Groaning, Finn lumbered out of his chair and opened the door to Blaine and his decidedly far too well coordinated blue-with-red-piping duffel bag.

"You shouldn't text while driving, Blaine," Kurt called from the kitchen, stirring the contents of the pan as it fizzled pleasantly. Blaine moved into Kurt's line of sight, looking worn. A shirt advertising Dalton's fencing team hung awkwardly, half tucked into well-worn sweatpants.

"I wasn't."

"Here, sweetie, why don't I take over for you?" Carole murmured on his other side, taking hold of the pan. Kurt offered her a quick smile as thanks before crossing the tile floor in three long strides to take Blaine into his arms. Blaine was cold, Kurt noticed, like he'd turned to the air conditioning on full blast. Odd, Kurt conceded, but nothing to begin to worry about. He felt Blaine sigh against his shoulder and the corresponding toe-curl flutter in his stomach that he still hadn't managed to get used to.

"Hi. You're warm."

"You're not. Come on." Kurt let his hand skim down Blaine's unencumbered arm to take his hand, tugging him gently through the kitchen and up the stairs.

"Door open!"

"Bien sûr!" They're almost to the top of the stairs when Kurt begins muttering obstinately to himself. "Really? Like I could possibly forget the way you beat it into my brain after last time. Or the fact that you remind Finn _twice_ as much as me when Rachel's over. I'm going to suddenly forget – "

Kurt suddenly felt the cool press of the wall against his shoulder blades, and he looked up in surprise. Vaguely, he heard the ugly duffel bag hit to floor, Blaine's hands resting lightly at his waist before tugging and wrapping around. All of this was dimly recorded in another part of his mind. The part not focused on the way Blaine's tongue was skimming and slipping between his lips, the way Blaine was breathing against him, the way the corresponding friction he caused between their mouths made both of them sigh.

"Hi," Blaine whispered. "You're warm." Kurt smiled against his boyfriend, one palm against the center of Blaine's back, the other lightly massaging the back of his neck.

"Patience is not your forte, is it?"

"What tipped you off?" Blaine replied before leaning in again and kissing him soundly.

"No basis. None at all."

"You're rather brash in judgment like that. Maybe you need more tests to make sure your conclusions are more conclusive."

"Maybe we should make it to my room before Finn decides it's video game time."

"But there are all those pesky stairs."

"I know. All four that are left. Whatever shall we do?" Blaine smiled, slow and conspiratorial, causing Kurt's gaze to flatten. "You are fully capable of climbing the rest of the stairs by yourself." His smile slowly morphed into the most effective kicked-puppy face that Kurt had ever had the misfortune to come into contact with. A short staring contest ensued until Kurt caved. He bent down, swinging one arm under Blaine's knees and the other across his back. "You are a child," he stated, dipping so Blaine could settle his bag across his stomach.

Blaine slapped a sloppy kiss on Kurt's cheek. "You love me, though."

Kurt began climbing steadily. "I'm wondering if you just accused me of pedophilia or if you just want me to confirm that I do, in fact, love you."

"I feel like if I could be here all the time, life would just be wonderful."

Kurt shifted to open his door, walking in and sitting down on his bed. Blaine let his bag fall to floor, and nuzzled into Kurt's chest, humming against his ribcage, eyelids drifting closed. Kurt wove his fingers through Blaine's cold, ungelled hair. He seemed alright. Except for being freezing. And arriving before asking if he could come over.

"Are you okay, Blaine?"

"Am now. Mom and Dad left. Tried sleeping. Couldn't. Nightmares. Thought you could make them go away." Kurt bit his lip, wrapping his arms more securely around the rapidly crashing boy on his lap. Still chill to the touch, Kurt asked,

"It's not cold outside. Why are you so cold?"

Blaine yawned before answering. "Tried to stay awake while driving. Tired, so put on A/C. Sixty degrees in car." He shifted against Kurt, one hand gripping his shoulder to pull him closer. Kurt felt something icy shoot through him, something completely unrelated to Blaine.

"How long have you been having nightmares?"

"S'ok. You make them go away. Too warm for them."

"Blaine?"

"Tired. Sleep now."

He'd been suffering since the incident, and Kurt hadn't noticed. Even the knowledge that Blaine had a well-cultivated veneer of happy and charming didn't do much to soothe the uneasiness pooling in his stomach.

"Blaine, I need to get up so I can set up the bed for you." Blaine's eyes snapped open. He looked up at Kurt, so hopeful that he actually felt an almost-uncomfortable tug in his chest.

"You'll stay with me?" It hurt to shake his head, really physically hurt, but Kurt knew the rules, and so did Blaine.

"No. But you can have the bed. It's the least I can do for – for not noticing you weren't okay." Kurt took in a shuddering breath, trying to reign in unhelpful emotions.

"You're shaking. Wait. Wait. What? Kurt." Blaine took Kurt's face between his hands and stared at him like he was trying to get across the most important thing in the universe, the most important thing _ever_. "I'm just. I – I couldn't sleep 'cause of nightmares. 'Cause I was beaten up. You didn't do that to me."

"I should've known, would've been around more – "

"_No._ You're here now. You're around when I... When..." The small boy's eyelids drooped, lines wrinkling his forehead as he tried to work through the sleepy cotton wool in his head. "You're everything I need. I trust you most. And when I – um – when I need you, I'll ask, 'kay? I asked. I'm here." Kurt nodded, and Blaine smiled satisfactorily, his head taking its previous place against Kurt.

"I'm still going to need to set up the bed for you."

"Oh." The other boy didn't move for a bit, until he hooked his chin over Kurt's shoulder and his legs around Kurt's waist. "I would make a great koala bear in a past life."

Huffing out a laugh, Kurt stood, rearranging pillows and pulling back the blankets so Blaine could slip in.

"Did you bring pajamas?"

"Mm. Wore soft clothes because knew I'd forget," Blaine said as Kurt lowered him into the bed, keeping one hand on the side of Kurt's neck.

"Clever," Kurt mused, pressing a kiss to Blaine's forehead and gracing a hand over his curls. He surveyed his own attire, wondering about leaving the pajamas just for tonight. He was dressed similarly, with admittedly more layers, so Kurt figured it couldn't hurt. His drawers squeaked something fearful and he didn't want to disturb his near-unconscious boyfriend.

Hearing the door click closed, Kurt glanced up, listening furiously. The steps retreating weren't those of Finn's or Carole's, but of his father's. Kurt felt his heart swell with affection and made a mental note to make extra special pancakes with just a little bit of fat for Burt in the morning.

"What's that?" a bleary Blaine muttered, curling into a pillow.

"Dad wants me to keep the nightmares away. Scoot over," he explained, crawling in next to Blaine and pulling up the duvet.

"I love your Dad."

"I love my Dad, too."

"Love you more, though."

"Go to sleep, Blaine."

"Mmkay."

Kurt wasn't quite sure how long he held Blaine before drifting off himself. Sometimes he made a concerted effort to close his eyes and breathe deeply, but other times he'd be more concerned with rocking their bodies, humming snippets of songs he couldn't remember the lyrics to, doing what he could to make Blaine more comfortable, to keep the nightmares.

It hit him once right before he fell into sleep, that he hadn't felt like this about anyone since his father had fallen ill. The worst part was the coma, the not knowing, and the not being able to help. The immense relief that he could finally take care of the person he loved most in the world. Maybe, he hoped, he and Blaine would last if not forever, then for a long, long time. Maybe he didn't love Blaine as much as he loved his father, but he couldn't help feeling the beginnings o f a shift, the expansion of his heart to fit both of them equally in time.

"I love you. I believe in you, Blaine."


	4. Jobs

**A/N: Hello there! This is one that's probably been in the works for the longest, though all the parts I thought were actually interesting I added just now.**

**Disclaimer: People you recognize belong to Glee. People you don't recognize are actually real and from my summer theater group. (=**

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><p>4. Jobs<p>

Kurt couldn't believe he was actually sinking to this level. He supposed his discomfort had less to do with his history with this particular franchise and more to do with his self-proclaimed status as a fabulous fashionista, but really. He could feel the heavy gaze of his idols judging him from whatever successful position they were currently in. He had tried to find ways out of it for weeks, but now that it was the summertime, his short hours at his dad's shop simply wouldn't cut it for his wardrobe budget, and asking his dad for more money was out of the question. He and Carole had started re-saving for their honeymoon, and Kurt more than anything wanted them to have that to themselves. Still, he could get this job. It wasn't as if he was on the never-hire list. It wasn't as if he had been completely banned from a similar establishment, two hours away. It wasn't as if he had roped his school's glee club into serenading a junior manager at the store's Westerville location.

Kurt sighed, resigned, and entered the store with a large _Now Hiring!_ sign above the door.

Despite his nerves, Kurt knew he aced the interview. He knew clothes better than any person in Lima, and despite his initial horror while scanning nearby job openings, he had done his research on the styles that the franchise deemed "in." He got the call as he was parking his car in the driveway.

Kurt made his way quickly through his home and into his room. He smiled at the familiar _Dior_ grey, and began to laugh quietly. He had a job at the GAP.

Thank goodness Blaine was neck-deep in rehearsals and could talk of little else. The bruises of last week were fading to an oddly pinkish color, and yesterday, he had mentioned shyly that it was okay if Kurt had better things to do than drive his boyfriend to and from rehearsals. His parents were back from their latest business trip, and had offered to take over. At first, Kurt had refused, saying that he was happy to, but Blaine had looked pointedly at Kurt's outfit – one he'd worn already that week – and Kurt had been forced to take his offer, though probably not in quite the way Blaine would have liked. He wasn't going to lie . . . precisely . . . because he and Blaine never lied to each other, but he didn't have to offer up the information on a silver platter, now, did he? Besides, Kurt had applied for the perfect shift. The one that assured him that Blaine wouldn't accidentally walk into said GAP while Kurt was working.

That was the plan, anyway.

It was only Kurt's fourth day of work. He'd completed the training day and was adjusting quite easily to taking orders from – Kurt smirked – a junior manager. The guy, Toby, was a completely competent administrator, though he lacked Kurt's fashion expertise. Then again, Kurt rationalized, so did just about everyone else. Therefore, Kurt couldn't help offering comments to the clearly idiotic shoppers.

"No," he said to one. "Those two colors don't go together. Try it in green." Said customer looked disgruntled, but humored him, and eventually bought the green sweater. Not all advice was taken as well as that, though most did, and Kurt could feel his superior eyeing him appreciatively. Kurt felt pretty solid about his job performance.

That being said, Kurt didn't try to overdo it. The comments were mere instinct after many, many sleepovers with the girls and what Kurt helpfully called "cleanses" of Blaine's and Carole's wardrobes. After all, it was just the GAP, and his customers didn't need to know how atrocious their choices were. He just steered them away from the completely awful and toward the more tolerable.

Kurt had been doing just that on his second day, when he heard some familiar voices approaching.

"Man, I can't believe we still have to drive all the way to Lima just to get some decent jeans."

"They're bound to forget eventually."

"How? How could anyone possibly forget that? I did backflips, Wes. _Backflips._"

"That, and there was something distinctively. . ."

"I like my toys just where they are, thank you very much."

Snickering. Kurt ran for it. Ducking behind the junior miss section, Kurt spied three – no, four – Warblers meandering around the store. Kurt checked again. No, three Warblers and another boy he didn't recognize. The boy in question's eyebrows came together before a confident smirk made its way across his face.

"Wait, he didn't. Not _When I Get You Alone?_"

"You know the song?"

"I love the song." The three Warblers – Thad, Wes, and David – shared a look at that response.

"I think you'll like him once you meet him. He's got a great voice and can establish a rapport with the audience really easily. He met his boyfriend, Kurt, that way."

"We should all get together soon. Blaine sounds awesome." Kurt bristled, torn between coming out from behind the rack of summer dresses and keeping his occupation hidden. The way the other boy – a new Dalton student, from the looks of things – talked about Blaine rubbed him the wrong way. Before he could make his decision, he saw movement in his periphery.

"Kurt, why are you hiding?" Jean, an employee hired a month or so before Kurt, crouched down next to him. Kurt whipped around so quickly his neck made an odd noise.

"I know those guys. I used to go to school with them." Jean looked confused. She, like the other employees here, didn't know anything about Kurt's life outside of his job. "They can't know I work here. It's an old joke." Jean's forehead relaxed, and she nodded conspiratorially.

"It's nearly time for you to be out of here anyway, I'll cover for you. I'll tell Toby you weren't feeling well or something." Kurt gripped her arm in thanks, beginning to slip towards the doors of the store while Jean stood up, going over to talk to the group of Dalton students about their new sale on Argyle socks. The boys were hooked immediately. Kurt snuck out without much effort, turning and signing a quick _thank you_ to Jean on the way out. She smiled before turning back to her customers.

His phone was ringing as he crossed the parking lot. Grinning at the caller ID, he pressed the phone close to his face.

"Is that Blaine Anderson, the famous actor, calling?" A sigh muffled through the static.

"I knew it."

"What?" Kurt unlocked his car and got in.

"You only love me for my stardom." A little fluttering pooled low in his stomach. Kurt held back a smile.

"Well, yes. But I thought you were okay with that. We talked about this, Blaine. I only go for guys who wear socks."

"You wound me."

"Don't pour gallons of gel in their hair each day?"

"My heart. It bleeds."

"Oh, wait. I've got it. Ones who don't coordinate their overnight bags with their school uniform – wait for it – _in the summer_."

"That's it. Call an ambulance. Death by sarcastic boyfriend." Kurt pressed a fist to his chin to keep from giggling in a decidedly girly manner.

"I do love you for your stardom, though!"

"But not for anything else."

"Well, that depends. . ."

"Oh?"

"Well, I might have the ingredients for red velvet cheesecake that I've been hiding from my family. If anyone felt like coming and helping me make it, minor transgressions may be ignored in favor of decadent goodness."

"You had me at red velvet."

"I know, darling. You're so easily manipulated."

"That statement is invalid."

"Why?"

"You called me 'darling.'"

"So I did. See you later?"

"Indeed you will! Can I bring my awesome overnight bag?"

"It's a stupid overnight bag."

"I'll take that as a yes. Bye!" Grinning, and completely oblivious, Kurt started the Navigator and headed home.

Four boys, paper bags full of new purchases, watched him go before beginning to fight over who would call Blaine first. Eventually, Thad won. The fourth boy stood a ways from them, staring at the pale boy in the SUV with calculating eyes.

Kurt had the kitchen set up within fifteen minutes, yelling at any who dared come close, even making Finn a sandwich so he would go away. When he decided he couldn't go any further without actually making the cheesecake himself, Kurt hopped upstairs to change into something more baking-friendly.

A knock on the door alerted him to Blaine's presence. Kurt threw on his sage-and-teal apron before heading over and opening it with a dramatic flair.

"Nice apron." Kurt cocked an eyebrow, twirling so that it flared out before stepping aside to let Blaine in.

"Isn't it, though? I got one for you, too." Blaine pressed a quick kiss to Kurt's cheek, hiding a smile.

"It's so much cleaner than the last one I saw you in."

"Okay, that wasn't my fault, I told you," Kurt quipped, taking Blaine's horrible duffel bag and dropping it in the corner of the kitchen. "My dad was trying to make shirred eggs . . . and failed while I was in the same room."

"You were so cute, trying to stop me from dying from eu de badly cooked egg."

"I was trying to impress the hungover boy who'd finally made it to the living room while stopping my father from having another heart attack. Also," Kurt gesticulated with a mixing spoon, "I resent the fact that you don't find me cute all the time." Blaine backed up, hands in the air, grinning madly. Kurt pointed him to a bowl and various tools, and went on. "So, I think we need to establish some ground rules."

Blaine, intent on the egg and the beater he'd picked up, looked over. "Such as?"

"Recreational use of baking ingredients." Blaine snorted.

"I'm not touching your hair, Kurt. I wouldn't dare." He paused. "Unless. . ."

"No. No unless. This is what I'm talking about. Ground rules."

"Isn't one of our ground rules that we tell each other everything?" Kurt felt red velvet-scented lead drop in his stomach. Before he could react, Blaine continued. "For instance, I think you would look adorable with just a little icing on your cheek." Kurt felt the air rush from his lungs as he covered his relief with a superior gaze.

"I disagree. And, as fashion extraordinaire, I think I win." Blaine shrugged, sitting on the counter before beating the eggs on his lap.

"I dunno. I was pretty good at making the GAP work before I was kicked out. Pass the milk?" Kurt blinked at him a few times before complying, breathing steadily.

"Don't use more than a quarter of a cup. It'll turn out mushy otherwise." Blaine nodded, measuring the correct amount out before returning it to the refrigerator. "How did rehearsals go today?"

"Well, I think. Seth lost his capo again, which sucks, because it means he's out of tune the entire time and Wren just has to follow him. Jeff and I were wincing the entire time. Other than that, though. We finally blocked the scene were Viola and Sebastian are reunited and everything ends happily ever after. It was pretty great – watching everyone's shocked faces when Viola reveals her secret." He glanced at Kurt. "I think it's great how forgiving Orsino and is about everything. He's just like, 'oh, you're a girl? Okay, let's get married.'" Blaine pawed at a fading bruise on his cheek. "Anyway, how was your day?"

"Not nearly as exciting. I went to the mall. I think I saw Wes and David and Thad, but I was in a hurry and didn't get to say hello."

"Yeah? That's a shame. How was work?" Blaine asked, his tone light and unassuming.

"Oh, it was f—" Kurt stopped. Blaine, biting back a victorious grin, slipped off the counter, took a fingerful of icing, and smeared it across Kurt's cheek.

"Now, I think that's definitely a great look on you." Kurt took a deep breath, put down the spoon, and said,

"In my defense, I used my discount to get you a bowtie that will go with your silly duffel bag."

"It's an awesome duffel bag."

"Okay." Blaine grinned, pecked Kurt's nose, and went back to beating the eggs. "You're going to win all the arguments today, aren't you?"

"I like how you think you'll only have to grovel today."

"This week?"

"Much better. Now, what were we saying about recreational use of baking ingredients?"

Kurt shoved his hands into his pockets of his apron, giving Blaine a calculating look.

"Do I get to retaliate?"

"Retaliate all you want, dear. Your hair is mine to do with as I will." Blaine picked up an egg and looked between it and the top of Kurt's head , his brow furrowed in concentration.

It took Kurt all of ten seconds to wipe the icing from his face, take his boyfriend by the hips, and press him against the counter, peppering light kisses and nips down his neck.

"A_hh_. No fair." Kurt lifted his head slightly to speak directly into his boyfriend's ear.

"I could always stop. You do get to win this week."

"Oh my _god_," Blaine laughed breathlessly. "You are such a cheater." Kurt smiled, pleased, and continued toward his collarbone, watching as Blaine swallowed roughly.

"Okay, here's the deal. I'll let you win this one," Kurt laved over a particularly nice piece of handiwork in place of a sarcastic retort, satisfied with the little wobble in Blaine's pitch. "_If_ you change your shift so I can come and bother you at work."

Kurt lifted his head, looking at the shorter boy levelly.

"I will not allow you to buy those ridiculous pink sunglasses."

"What about the yellow ones?" Blaine asked hopefully, wiping off a bit of excess icing with the pad of his thumb. Kurt narrowed his eyes.

"Fine, but I'm going to make you get some socks."

"No! Not socks!" He pulled Kurt closer to hold him properly, the egg forgotten on the counter. Kurt settled himself against him, his non-sticky cheek pressed against Blaine's ear.

"You're not going to get me fired, are you?"

Blaine squeezed his shoulders in reply.


	5. Fights

**A/N: Something about my story was bugging me. Things that we now know in season three about Klaine didn't match up. So I think this will fix it.**

**It's a bit of a shift. Usually I write from Kurt's POV because it's easier for me, but I tried out Blaine for this one because it makes more sense for the scenario. I'm a little worried about posting it. I've never written anything quite like it before. Anyway, here goes.**

**Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is from Glee.**

**WARNING: If you don't like Klaine relationship angst, don't read. I made it so the rest of the stories will make sense without this oneshot. It does have a happy ending, though, I promise.**

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><p>5. Fights<p>

Blaine smiled brightly, clasping hands with some castmates, clapping others on the back. He walked formally to his director and shook hands with her, thanking her for putting together such a fantastic show. This was their penultimate rehearsal, and they had rocked it.

He was tackle-hugged simultaneously by Jake and Ian.

"Oh man, this is going to be awesome!" Ian, his bruises faded to grey on his pale skin, whooped, laughing with abandon that Blaine had missed.

"Blaine, dude, you have to come over to my house for the HP movie marathon. There'll be soda and chips. It's gonna be _wild_." Jake was grinning, shining from being singled out with praise by their usually strict director.

"Thanks, but I've got to head out. I've got a Dalton reunion. I'll come to one of them, soon," he promised, glancing across the space to Jeff, who nodded.

"Is that code for you going off to an undisclosed location with the boyfriend?" Jake asked, pursing his lips. "Bro, you are _so_ whipped." Blaine shrugged and grinned.

"It's true that I am an exceptionally great boyfriend. But this is actually a school reunion. And Jeff and I are going to be late. See you guys in three days."

"At the actual venue!" Ian whooped again, high-fiving Jerome. Blaine did an excited little jig, then turned and walked swiftly out of the building, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jeff. They fell into step with ease, shoulders back, hips forward. Once, when Jake had seen them do it out of instinct, called it the "straight-guy-gangster."

"Where are we?" Jeff's tone, so carefree three minutes earlier, turned serious. Blaine passed him his second phone, their routine memorized down to the smooth motion of fingertips. The phone was a crappy old clunker, unused except for evenings like this.

"Nathan's taking us there. Got a text five minutes ago. He's here."

They pushed open the double doors together, jogging down the steps and weaving between the cars until they found Nathan's black SUV. They slid in by Trent and Connor.

"Blaine. Nice to see you've finally shown up." Connor threw him a nasty look. Blaine kept his face impassive, staring at the back of Nathan's seat.

"He's been busy with his Kurt," Jeff smirked.

"You kept him then? Planning on telling him any time soon?" Blaine felt anger ripple through him, humming just under his skin.

"Don't start something in the car, Connor."

"Wait, you haven't told him?" Nathan's tone was unreadable. All of their tones were. Good Dalton boys with big smiles and opening arms turned impassive without supervision.

"No." Honestly, it had been so long since he'd participated, what with their blossoming relationship and then _Twelfth Night_, that he'd simply forgotten. But after the attack, he felt the familiar pull, the taut thread, fueled by fear and anger, that kept him fit. Despite Kurt's best efforts, the nightmares hadn't gone away. He couldn't lean on Kurt forever, and so he'd texted Nathan to let him know about the next meetup. Then he'd waited a week, told Kurt his parents could drive him, and only went to Kurt's if invited. Jeff, the most expressive, frowned at him.

"You should. Don't you two have an honesty rule or something?" Blaine felt his jaw tense, and clasped his hands together on his legs. He almost hadn't said anything about Kurt's job at the GAP – his secret was so much bigger – but it had bothered him so much that Kurt had decided not to tell him, and so he'd caused him to spill the beans. Guilt, unrepentant and vicious, had been gnawing at him since then.

"Leave it, Jeff." He huffed out a breath, schooling his features once more, before asking, "Who's the medic on site?"

"Jonathan said he'd show up after ten minutes. He was stopping to grab supplies." Nathan parked the car outside a commercial eight-story parking lot. "We walk from here. The elevators broken, and it's three stories up."

"Nothing like a run up steep concrete steps to get the blood pumping," Trent muttered, pushing the boys cramming him in the middle out either side of the car. Blaine jogged ahead of them, stripping his jacket off and tying it around his waist as he went. He was wearing a light undershirt and khaki shorts for rehearsal; for _this._ The insides of his many pockets were stuffed with bandages and expensive concealer.

Halfway past the second floor, a good twenty seconds in front of his classmates, Blaine began wrapping his hands, tucking the concealer into a leg strap that wouldn't hinder him. His breathing fell out of its regular pattern; long breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth. He began to stretch as he reached the top, slowing, trying to become more graceful. He rounded the top step with his arms over his head, blood warm and thrumming through him.

A circle was drawn in plain white chalk in the center of the lot. A few others dressed in casual gear stood off to the right. They greeted him with a nods and glances. Blaine had started the fight club, but he was no longer the leader of it. As soon as he had become lead soloist for the Warblers – one month before he met Kurt – he had passed the reigns over to Nathan.

That didn't mean he'd let anyone ever beat him.

He stood by Derek, one of the bigger guys in their group. Blaine finished up the knots on the bandages and glanced up at him.

"You're back."

"Yes."

"Been a while."

"Mm."

"You may have been replaced."

"Really?"

"Mm. New guy. Wouldn't give his name. Asked about you, though. Heard about you through the Warbler council. Apparently, he's been hanging out with them over the last few weeks."

"How'd he find out?"

"Dunno. The council didn't tell him, though. They don't know. He's good though. Like you, but taller."

Blaine felt the others congregate around him. They nodded in agreement.

"He's not coming this time, though. He had other matters to attend to."

"Shame."

"Next time, though."

Blaine nodded, feeling uneasy. He'd been gone too long. If tonight went bad, he wouldn't be coming back.

Then he'd never have to tell Kurt.

"You want to be up first, Blaine?" Nathan asked. Blaine nodded again, appreciating the courtesy Nathan offered him. He dumped his jacket off to the side as Nathan began to yell out the rules. Blaine looked on appreciatively. Nathan's voice had gotten a lot stronger since last he'd been here.

"Remember." Nathan's voice rang out. "_Nothing to the face_."

Nathan was being friendly, so it seemed, pairing Blaine with Connor. Connor didn't like Blaine, and the feeling was reciprocated. But Blaine was faster and sturdier than Connor. And Connor wasn't plagued by fears that brought him here, he did it for fun. Blaine won easily, tension falling off him in waves, heat thrumming through him. When Connor went down, Blaine walked out of the circle, stretching out.

Derek, all brawn, came at him next. Blaine twisted fluidly away from each crashing blow, slapping his fists away, moving, moving.

_Ian! Jerome! H-Help! Help!_

Derek was so big that Blaine could slide under him as he came running, tripping and twisting his ankle. It was a move Derek had taught him, but he hardly ever expected it.

_Who's this? Your boyfriend, Blaine?_

Quick jabs to the solar plexus, pancreas, liver.

_It's girls' choice. Why'd you ask him?_

_Blaine? Blaine!_

Derek's limbs, slick with sweat, shone in the dimming light.

_Oh, god. They have bats. Duck!_

Blaine crouched too soon, Derek's heavy weight pushing into an old bruise on his shoulder.

_Blaine?_

He reacted blindly, right palm to Derek's lungs, winding him, left fist under his gut.

_You've got to stop this!_

Blaine stumbled back as Derek went down, breathing heavily.

"Blaine?"

He didn't notice at first, caught up the memories, Kurt's voice intermingling with Wren's, his middle school tormentors, and the guys from the fight not long ago. He noticed an unusual quiet. Usually, the boys were wild by now, drunk off adrenaline. Silence.

When he figured out why, lead weight settled low within him, dragging his knees, his shoulder, his head down. Not to the ground, just down. Swallowing felt like lifting a car. Turning felt like slamming into a brick wall at fifty miles an hour. He could see the black suede shoes with a slight heel. He thought if he had to lift his head, it just might kill him. Shame washed through him. Bile rose in his throat.

It took an eternity to lift his head. His classmates were so, so quiet. _Say something!_ he wanted to scream. _Help me!_

For the longest time, he'd fancied himself Kurt's mentor, his friend, his confidant, his boyfriend. Kurt had always been there, before Blaine had even thought about reciprocating his feelings. To talk over coffee, to rehearse a duet, to help him pick up props after a particularly rambunctious Warbler performance. Kurt, who had loved him since he'd met him. Who he'd never seen happier than when talking about New York, until Blaine told him that he loved him. Kurt, who was on his way to becoming Blaine's _everything_.

His everything was looking at him with the expression Blaine thought was reserved for Karofsky.

He tried to talk. Kurt's name clogged up his throat like rubber. _Please. Please let me explain._

"My god. He was right. He – Blaine." His classmates were quiet. So quiet. Jeff cleared his throat.

"Kurt, how did you get here?" Jeff asked. Kurt's gaze flickered to Jeff, then back to Blaine. The hurt in his eyes clawed at Blaine's insides.

"Someone called me. Some – they called me, and said Blaine was in trouble. And I – I came. And. Blaine? What's going on? Is this . . . Is this a _fight club?_" The venom that dripped from those two words shot through him. At some point, Blaine had ended up on his knees. Somehow, Blaine forced his mouth to work.

"Kurt – " He stuttered to a halt, not knowing what to say.

"Blaine." Nathan's voice was a command. "I think you'd better go." Firm hands gripped under his arms, lifting him to his feet and pushing him to Kurt. Blaine suddenly felt exhausted, the last of his adrenaline draining out of him as he stumbled towards his boyfriend. Kurt took just as many steps back, motioning with his arm for Blaine to walk in front.

A choking noise reached Blaine's ears as he reached the stairs, Kurt's heels clicking on the concrete behind him. It took him half a story to realize that it was him. He tried closing his mouth to stop the noise, but found he couldn't breathe.

_KurtdoyoustilllovemeKurtI''msorrypleaseforgiveme._

Blaine saw Kurt's Navigator and stopped, unsure if he was welcome. The look Kurt had given him and his classmates had shaken him to his core. The animosity there was like something he'd never seen. And betrayal. Betrayal had definitely been there too.

"Blaine." Kurt sounded winded. "Get in the car. I'm taking you home." Blaine nodded, unable to respond, his insides eating at him.

When they'd pulled onto the main road, Kurt said, his voice steadier, "If you'd like to redeem yourself, now's probably your best chance."

Blaine opened his mouth, determined to at least _try_. "I. Um." He coughed, blinking tears down his face. "I don't know what to say. I'm. I'm so sorry, Kurt."

"Sorry you were participating in a fight club, or sorry you got caught?" Blaine curled in on himself, feeling like a child, a scared, helpless child about to lose something precious.

"All of it. I'm sorry. I'm s. . . I didn't – I'm sorry." Blaine didn't count the number of times his voice cracked, too aware of Kurt. Kurt, whose voice remained steely and unforgiving.

"What I don't understand," Kurt began tersely, taking the freeway straight to Blaine's house. "Is how you could possibly give me grief about having a job at the GAP while you were beating people up by night and not telling me about it."

"I – "

"What I don't understand," he continued, zipping through the cars with practiced ease. "Is how you could go so long without telling me you whale on people and still have such a reaction to getting beaten up."

"Kurt – "

"And I don't understand how you can be so f-f-f_reaking_ bipolar. Where's my Blaine? Is he just some sort of front? Jesus, Blaine, how long has this been going on?"

Blaine watched as Kurt swerved dangerously off the highway at the wrong exit, turning off the service road and into the parking lot of a deserted supermarket. "Get out."

Rejection washed through him like ice. "W – What?"

"Get. Out. I'm having a conversation with you and I want to look at you instead of driving dangerously. Get out." Numbly, Blaine exited the Navigator, leaning against the cool metal in the summer heat. Kurt was on him in seconds.

"Kurt, I lo – "

"Don't say it." The words died in his mouth. Blaine felt like all the air was gone. Kurt had his arms wrapped around himself, his lips pressed together. He took a shuddering breath before continuing in a watery voice.

"I'd like to think I'm a pretty good boyfriend. I don't have much to compare myself to, not really. But . . . Maybe I haven't been? Maybe I'm not good enough and so you needed this – this outlet, I guess."

"No, Kurt, please." Blaine took a halting step toward Kurt. Kurt shook his head, backing up. Blaine slumped against the car door. Tears drenched his face. He would cough, but he worried that then he'd never stop.

"I just don't get why you didn't _tell me_. Why?"

"I haven't . . .In so long, Kurt. I haven't gone in so long. Not since we got together, but I just got . . . I got so scared that – "

"That you needed to beat people up to make you feel better?" Blaine cringed, looking down at his hands, at the sign of the store, at his feet. "Explain it to me, Blaine. What's the appeal?"

Liquid rubber coated his mouth, but Blaine was determined to save what little he could. "When . . .When I got to Dalton, I wasn't – I couldn't. . . I took up boxing, because I was hurt so much at . . . Anyway. I started the – uh – " _Keep breathing. Keep breathing._ "The fight club. At Dalton. And it made me less scared. I could – um – I could control just a little bit of what was going on. And I was good. It made me f-feel like I could defend myself, y'know?" He took in a choked breath. "Like if it ever happened again, I would be ready." He couldn't bear to look at Kurt, but he couldn't keep looking at his shoes. He covered his face in his hands. "I stopped as soon as we got together. And . . . And before we met, I'd given the leadership to Nathan. I just . . . Two weeks ago, they were so big, and I was so"—he laughed bitterly, unable to stop himself—"out of _practice_. I got scared and called Nathan. I'm so . . . I'm just . . ." He clenched his teeth together. He had to say it, no matter how much of him was screaming at him not to. Kurt had been quiet this whole time. _YouhavetoYouhavetoYouhaveto_. "I get it if you don't. . . I mean, if you want to stop seeing each other, I'd _underst_ – " He was sobbing then, crouching in on himself, arms around his knees, rocking. He felt pathetic and oddly used up, crying and about to get dumped by the love of his life for being an idiot.

Heels clicked along the tarmac until they were under his nose. Pale hands lifted him up by the waist. Instinctively, Blaine latched onto Kurt, curling up against his chest, his knees and back awkwardly bent to make the angle work.

"I'm going to take you home, okay, Blaine?" The hands were gently holding him to Kurt's chest as he opened the car door, but the words seemed devoid of feeling. Blaine squeezed more tears out of his eyes, sitting in the car and buckling his seat belt. The door shut softly next to him.

Kurt didn't speak the entire way to his house. When they pulled up, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Blaine, who looked up, confused.

"You have a nasty bruise on your shoulder; this'll hide it from your parents." Blaine's eyes grew wide, in awe of someone who could be so kind to someone who'd done what he had. He pulled it on, trying not to breathe Kurt's scent in too deeply before unbuckling himself and opening the door. He chanced one last look back, but Kurt wasn't watching him.

"I'll call you, okay? I need to think for a bit." Blaine nodded numbly, slipping off the seat and onto the driveway. Blaine sucked in the last of his courage to say,

"Kurt, if . . . if, when you're thinking. Between you and fight club. There's no choice. I've stopped. I'm not going back, I promise." Kurt nodded, his eyes straight ahead.

"Thank you for telling me. Good night, Blaine." Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Blaine shut the door with a soft click and backed away, watching as the Navigator pulled out and hummed down his street, brake lights fading into the dark.

* * *

><p>Blaine wasn't sure how he made it to his bed that night, but he woke up still in Kurt's jacket with his phone clutched to his chest. There were no missed calls.<p>

Blaine turned the volume up as far as it would go and plugged it into the wall, his limbs stiff and unresponsive. He clambered out of bed and across his room to the adjoining bathroom, picking up some clean underwear and jeans as he went.

Slowly, he stripped in front of the mirror, feeling sore and sorry for himself. His first thought was that he could swallow his weight in painkillers, but for that he'd have to go downstairs, and his parents would probably be up by now. Instead, he surveyed last night's damage. The bruise on his shoulder was an ugly purple, but Blaine decided that it was probably the red, sunken eyes that would cause the most concern. Groaning, he switched on the cold tap and splashed his face with water to wake up fully. Shivering at the cold, Blaine shook himself and turned the shower on the hottest it would go.

Any other day, he would've shrieked at the temperature, his tan skin turning pink under the spray.

Blaine toweled dry and began applying the concealer to his bruise and under his eyes. His skin was more dry than usual, and it took him a while to figure out why. Kurt-approved moisturizers and creams crowded the left side of the sink. Blaine swallowed roughly and continued dabbing at the dark patches on his skin.

He dressed and put Kurt's jacket back on, then fell right back into bed. If his parents wanted him, they would have no qualms about coming and getting him up.

Kurt didn't call that day.

Or the next.

The day after was his first dress rehearsal, and Blaine put on his best happy-Dalton-boy face, ignoring the looks Jeff shot him. At break, Blaine spent his time chatting with Jake, and when Jake grew tired of him, Jerome, and then Ian. Jeff tried, once while he was with Jake, to come up and talk to him. Blaine greeted him with a cheery smile and a clap on the back.

"Oh, how did your reunion go?" Jake asked. "I'm just saying it would've had to have been insane to even compare to the HP marathon you missed."

Blaine shrugged, keeping a steel grip on his composure. "It was a reunion. We talked about stuff, chatted about how cool the lack of schoolwork was, talked about internships and camp. Stuff like that." Blaine shrugged again. "Pretty regular." Jeff, his eyes on Blaine the entire time, nodded in agreement.

Blaine felt himself cracking when his director cornered him after most of the cast had begun to leave.

"Blaine, is something wrong?" He shook his head and smiled tiredly.

"No, ma'am. Nothing's wrong. Just feeling a little off. Must be being in the new venue." He nodded to himself. His director – Valerie – fixed him with an unconvinced stare.

"You're one of the best performers we have, Blaine. A natural. Things like new venues don't bother you. Your mask is fine for social interactions, but it's screwing with your acting. Whatever's going on, get it fixed, and soon. We open in two weeks." Blaine nodded hurriedly, glancing at the exit. Any second now he was going to break down in front of the lady he was hoping for a shining recommendation from.

"Go ahead."

Blaine did his best not to run.

He got into his car and checked his phone. His heart stopped. One missed call. One text.

_I remembered you were at rehearsal too late. I'll be at the Lima Bean until 8._

Blaine checked his watch. 6:30. He'd never driven so fast in his life.

When he got there, Kurt was sitting at a secluded table with two coffee cups in front of him. Kurt checked his watch, looking around. Blaine moved and sat down at the table, rushing out explanations.

"I'm sorry, the director kept me after, and I didn't see the call until I got in my car."

"It's fine Blaine." Blaine searched Kurt's face. He looked tired, he concluded, but not angry or hurt. "I got you your medium drip. Did you want anything else?" Blaine blinked, stunned.

"You're – " Kurt raised his eyebrows. "You're being so nice."

Kurt took a long sip of his coffee, looking at Blaine over the rim.

"I've decided what we're going to do." Blaine couldn't help the little flutter he felt when Kurt used the word _we_. "I've decided that I'm going to quit my job at the GAP. The people irritated me regardless. It would've happened eventually, but anyway, I'm going to quit my job and you are never going to speak of your fight club again. You will disconnect yourself entirely from them, throw away whatever device you were using to connect with that group. I will do the same with my job, because they both represent things that we didn't tell each other." Blaine was nodding before Kurt had finished. He hadn't touched his coffee, fidgeting restlessly, desperate to comply with Kurt. "Instead of signing up for the next gathering when you're angry or scared, you're going to call me and we will go to the nearest gym with punching bags. And we will work it out together. Okay?" Blaine realized he'd never stopped nodding along to what Kurt was saying, and stopped, his hand flexing on the table.

Kurt sighed. "I know you've got issues, Blaine. I used to think you were infallible, but the fact that you have a past that interferes with the way you are now won't make me stop loving you." After glancing around the near-empty room, Kurt took Blaine's hand from across the table. Blaine couldn't take his eyes off his beautiful, kind boyfriend. He slid his fingers against Kurt's, tangling them together, reveling in the contact he'd missed so much. He watched as Kurt gathered up his breath for the next part of what felt like an almost-rehearsed speech. "We've both got pasts, Blaine. You know mine, and you took me anyway, and I'm going to return the favor. Because despite your past, you're still my goofy boyfriend who dances around to Bryan Ferry in the middle of my bedroom, right? By the way, you completely wrecked my rug that time."

"As I recall, it was a team effort," Blaine cut in, a hopeful smile covering his face. Kurt's lips quirked, and he raised their joined hands to his face, resting them against his cheek.

"I like it when we're a team. Though I really do need a new rug. _Finn_ is starting to judge me." Blaine barked out a laugh for the first time since leaving the rehearsal space three days ago.

"Do you want to get a new rug? IKEA should still be open." Blaine paused, smoothing the pads of his fingers along Kurt's jaw. "I'll buy it, since I convinced you to dance with me." Kurt gazed at him warmly, hearing what he wasn't saying.

"Sure. Drink up. Then we'll go buy a new rug."

Blaine took a long gulp, before considering a part of Kurt's talk that he hadn't thought about before.

"Before you quit, can I pick out some new bow-ties?"

The question startled a laugh out of Kurt, and Blaine relished the accomplishment. Kurt nodded once through his quiet hiccups, his eyes alight with mirth.

They finished their coffee in silence, glancing up at each other every few seconds, Blaine grinning bashfully and Kurt blushing under the warmth of the liquid. Blaine wasn't quite sure when it turned into a finishing contest, but Kurt won hands-down.

They walked out together, shoulder to shoulder, in what Jake would no doubt call "gay-boys-in-love." They pushed open the double doors in unison and walked out into the parking lot, where Blaine stalled, turning to his boyfriend – _who he could still call his boyfriend_ – and asking,

"Which car?"

But Kurt was smiling at him, wide and toothy, his tongue poking between his lips.

"I got my dad to drive me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, this oneshot was basically me addressing these topics:**

**-Blaine starting a fight club**

**-Klaine using "we" more commonly than anything else**

**-The complete adoration Blaine has in his eyes whenever Kurt's in the room**

**-Blaine's need to impress Kurt (swapped from season 2, where it was the other way around)**

**-I always thought there was more to Kurt and Sebastian, so I added him a bit here and a bit in **_**Jobs**_**. He's the one who called Kurt and told him where Blaine was.**


	6. Twelve Nights

**A/N: For those who may have skipped the last chapter because of relationship angst, Blaine's director's name is Valerie.**

**This is an amalgamation of me having sad **_**Little Numbers**_** feelings, me feeling bad about leaving an angsty chapter alone, and me being sick and avoiding my homework. Meant to be fluffy and cute. Make-up-centric. And also to spoil Mytay. Who really should get back to her classwork. x**

* * *

><p>6. Twelve Nights<p>

* * *

><p>"Did anyone ever tell your director that she's a weirdo?" Kurt asked from his bed, laying on his stomach, head buried in downy pillows.<p>

"I'm sorry?" Blaine turned, brow furrowed, blush heavy on his cheeks. Kurt lifted his head groggily and repeated the question.

"Probably. Any particular reason why you'd like to?"

"You're doing a run of _Twelfth Night_ for twelve nights."

"I thought it was funny. Would you come fix my face? I can't get the ratio right." Kurt stared blearily at his boyfriend before rolling off the bed and walking over to the vanity.

"How is it that you can be so awake after last night?"

"I have an excellent constitution. Also, I was asleep halfway through _Beauty and the Beast_." Kurt snatched the brush from Blaine's hands and dipped a cotton ball in make-up remover. He surveyed the damage, before cocking his head.

"You picked the next three movies. How were you asleep?"

"I – mmf, yuck – I woke up when I heard the credit music long enough to have short conversations. Besides, you were half asleep anyway."

"I was doing my boyfriend duty by staying up and watching movies with your before your big night. If you'd wanted to sleep, you should've just said," Kurt grumbled, reapplying the foundation he'd wiped off lightly.

"Yes, but then we'd have to do the bedtime shuffle, and you were comfy." Kurt snorted, rubbing the foundation smoothly over Blaine's face.

"The bedtime shuffle?"

"Where you feel guilty – ehh, at least _try_ to avoid my mouth – about us being in the same bed, and then give up because I'm so cute – ow! _Kuurt_ – and then there's the shift until we can accommodate the space properly, and then we go to sleep. My way, I could just go to sleep. Because you're an awesome pillow. I like your pajamas. Where do you get them?" Kurt pushed away the blush and snapped open some thin bronzer, dabbing it high on Blaine's cheekbones.

"Online sales." Kurt yawned. "Next time, just say you're going to sleep. Or start sleep talking. Some indication would be lovely."

"Okay." Blaine's face became a prune as Kurt started to work around his eyes.

"Hold still."

"But my _eyes_."

"Blaine. Close them." Kurt resisted the urge to straddle Blaine's lap – the angle would've made this so much easier – in favor of keeping them both cool. They had an hour before they had to leave for Blaine' venue, and Kurt was driving him there, armed with gentle caffeine, lots of water, and kisses. Or maybe it was lots of kisses and just a regular amount of water. Kurt wasn't wholly clear on the ratio.

"Anyway, my director is a kind and wonderful woman who was happy to forget my complete and utter lack of talent that one time in favor of my awesome of the next ones."

"Stop it. You sound like Rachel."

"I like Rachel. She's nice to me. . . _Ow!_ See? This is what I mean. Rachel wouldn't do that to me." Kurt smiled, ruffling Blaine's gel-less hair, and knelt in front of him.

"Open your eyes and look up." The angle was a little better, Kurt thought, but not perfect. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, satisfied that it would be okay with a little cleaning up closer to the night.

"No mascara?" Blaine asked as Kurt pulled away, sweeping his thumbs under Blaine's eyes. Kurt frowned, surveying his work, smudging a bit here, dabbing with his fingers there.

"Your eyelashes are dark enough to go without," he muttered distractedly, still poking and prodding until he was satisfied with the evenness of the pigment, bent at the waist, his own face inches from Blaine's. "You're going to have a shadow halfway through the show, but that can't really be helped now. Tomorrow, shave before putting on the make-up." Blaine took the critique silently, breathing steadily through his nose. Kurt's eyes narrowed, snapping out of beautician and into boyfriend in seconds. "Are you nervous?"

"No! Maybe a little."

"Good. Because I might've been judging you. Just a little." Kurt winked at Blaine's comical sad face and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, careful not to smudge his hard work. He stepped back and began to gather Blaine's things; a mini-cooler full of water and gatorade, paper napkins, a granola bar, and padded socks. The second time Blaine had worn his character shoes, he'd noticed blisters growing on his feet. Not big, but he had a twelve-night run in front of him and Kurt wasn't taking any chances. "Did you want me to wrap your feet? I brought bandages and ointment, just in case." Blaine hummed, rising from his seat in front of the vanity.

"I think I'll be okay. If it gets bad at intermission, I'll deal with it, but I don't think it will. Mostly I just want to do something with my _hair_." Kurt smirked, crawling back onto the bed and curling up like a cat, watching Blaine pull it at odd angles out of the corner of his eye.

"Didn't Valerie say she wanted it loose?"

"Well, yes, but she couldn't possibly have _meant_ it."

"What happened to her being a kind and wonderful woman?"

"You think I'm being a diva?"

"Yes. That, and I see through your sneaky little veiled attempts to get me to play with your hair."—Blaine's face turned pleading—"Which I am happy to do, if you ask nicely and bring me the leave-in conditioner."

Blaine snatched said bottle from the side and sat down on the rug in front of Kurt's bed, his back to Kurt. Kurt rolled onto his stomach and poured a liberal amount of the conditioner into Blaine's hair before handing he bottle back and slowly massaging the liquid into his scalp. Blaine hummed happily, tipping his head back, bliss etched into his face.

"Can you do this before every performance?"

"I'll run out of conditioner."

"I'll buy more. Lots more."

"I don't know. After a while, won't you just get used to it?"

"Nope. Never."

* * *

><p>"Now don't get complacent. The second night's where everything goes wrong."<p>

"I _know_. But we were awesome last night! I'm just so excited. Are you coming again?"

"I'm bringing the leave-in conditioner and everything."

"You're fantastic. So you said no to the blush?"

"Right. And only a little bronzer and eyeliner. Anything more and you'll look like a bad hooker from New York City."

"Ouch!"

"What I mean, darling, is that you're too pretty for make-up."

"Nice save."

"I thought so. See you in a bit."

"I love you!"

"Calm down. If you hyperventilate and pass out, I'm not there to drive you to the theater."

* * *

><p><em>(Blaine): I still can't believe Rachel brought me flowers.<em>

_(Kurt): They were very pretty._

_(Blaine): You're very pretty._

_(Kurt): Is that a no to the free tickets for the rest of the run, then?_

_(Blaine): Actually, mom and dad bailed, so you can have one of theirs for tonight. Bring someone along, if you'd like._

_(Kurt): Like a date? You know, I would, but my boyfriend's been neglecting me lately. _

_(Blaine): Ha ha. _

_(Kurt): I'll find someone to bring. Sorry about your parents._

_(Blaine): They said they might be able to make it to the last performance, so no worries. See you there. x_

* * *

><p>On the fourth night, Blaine convinced Valerie that the cast needed Kurt to do their make-up. He had pictures of Jerome and Jake to prove it. The cast lined up in front of Kurt, shivering under the powerful fans of the dressing room, as he opened his case of various shades of powder, glitter for the girls, plain and flashy eyeliner and mascara. A hand-written request from the costuming director for each cast member was taped up onto the wall near the line of mirrors.<p>

Watching Kurt work on other people pulled at Blaine, making him feel oddly proud. Kurt loved performing. He loved curtsying in front of a clapping audience. But somehow, Blaine didn't think he'd end up there, because the serenity on his face as he smoothed and dabbed, tilted his head and clicked his tongue, was unlike Blaine had ever seen. And he had a lot of time to watch; Blaine was last in line to ensure a stealthy goodbye kiss from him.

"Thank you, Kurt." His boyfriend smiled, scratched at the top of his head, and stood, packing his things.

"Happy to help. Break a leg."

The kiss was worth the wait.

* * *

><p><em>(Blaine): Valerie's asking for you.<em>

_(Kurt): The security guard won't let me through the gate._

_(Blaine): Trey's coming. Sorrysorry._

_(Kurt): No problem. You forgot left your Gatorade in your car. I grabbed it for you._

_(Blaine): When did you get keys to my car?_

_(Kurt): I'm a ninja. Don't question my ways._

* * *

><p>"Hello, my darling! How are we?"<p>

"Oh, _owww_. You know how you said I should've wrapped my feet after last night's performance?"

"You should've remembered that I'm always right."

"I did remember that. I just forgot to do it. I was tired."

"We're halfway through. Is it really awful?"

"Not sure. It feels worse than it looks."

"I probably have time to come over and work some magic before we have to leave for the show."

"You. Are. An. Angel. And I love you. A lot."

"Uh-huh. I love you too. Take two ibuprofen and soak 'em in warm water until I get there."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>"Kurt!" Blaine called from his adjoining bathroom, rummaging through various bottles his boyfriend had left there. "I think I'm out of that wondrous moisturizer that makes me feel all tingly. Where did you get it?"<p>

Kurt slid off his boyfriend's bed and padded into the bathroom, scrutinizing the bottle.

"Oh, that can be replaced easily. It's on Amazon half-price, though, if you can wait a few days." Blaine pouted, placing the empty bottle reverently on the counter and staring at the other selections.

"But they don't make me feel tingly."

Kurt slipped his arms around Blaine's waist, looking at him through the mirror.

"We've got an hour. I can think of other ways to make you feel tingly." Blaine's eyes darkened.

"Yeah?" he asked, breathless.

"Mmhm." Kurt pecked his shoulder. "But first you should moisturize. Y'know. In case we forget later."

* * *

><p>"Oh god, last night was <em>awful<em>."

"No, it really wasn't."

"You're just saying that because you love me."

". . ."

"See? And it wasn't everyone else. It was just me. What's wrong with me, Kurt?"

"I . . . It might be stamina. Have you ever done a performance run this long?"

" . . .No. How do I fix this? Valerie just looked disappointed whenever she saw me."

"Well, I've got this medium drip with an extra shot of espresso that I'm not drinking. And a bottle of tingly moisturizer."

"You've _got_ to stop spending money on me. I feel all inadequate."

"How about you give your best performance of the run tonight and we'll call it even?"

". . ."

"Also, you bought my fluffy new rug."

"Okay, deal."

* * *

><p><em>(Blaine): Kurt, my dressing roommates don't like The Police. )'=<em>

_(Kurt): I know, life is hard. You really shouldn't text during intermission, though._

_(Blaine): They shouldn't be listening to the things they are during intermission._

_(Kurt): Blaine. Go get ready for Act Two. If you miss your cue, I will laugh. At you. Loudly._

_(Blaine): xox_

* * *

><p>"Jake! If you steal the glittery eyeliner again I won't hesitate to forcibly remove it from you!" Kurt stood behind his case of supplies, glowering into the hall of closed dressing rooms.<p>

"But it's so pretty!" came the muffled reply.

"It's also _mine_. Give it back," he replied sharply.

"Blaine! Your boyfriend is scary!"

"You ain't seen nothin' yet! Wait 'till he has to crawl around your dressing room looking for it after the show. _That's_ scary." The door to the room that Blaine, Ian, Jerome, and Alexander shared, and Blaine emerged in a tank top and his character trousers. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I will return victorious," he murmured wickedly, smacking a kiss onto Kurt's cheek before barreling into Jake's room. Girly squeals that had heads poking out of the female-only rooms ensued.

But Blaine did escape with the glittery eyeliner.

* * *

><p>The cast clapped for Kurt, Blaine, and Jeff's rendition of <em>My Girl<em> and _Valerie_ for their director; the first, a group effort, the second was a Kurt-solo with Blaine and Jeff's improvised doo-wops in the background. Each of the three boys earned hugs an appreciative smiles from Valerie before she started barking out notes for specific cast members. Afterwards, Valerie came up to him as he was putting the finishing touches on Wren's face and hair, restraining the tangled curls into a smooth braid.

"Kurt, my dear, you should really consider auditioning next summer if you have the time. You've been a pleasure to have with us."

Just when Kurt thought he would burst with joy, Blaine winked and blew a kiss at him over Valerie's shoulder.

The director followed his gaze, and said wryly, "Blaine's a very lucky boy." Kurt grinned them.

"So am I, ma'am."

* * *

><p>"I think I'm going to die. I can't do this."<p>

"Yes, you can."

"Kurt, cast-withdrawal isn't supposed to happen this soon."

"Is that what Jake told you? Because Jake is a liar."

"I can't leave these guys, Kurt. I think I'm going to cry. Wren's already weeping in her dressing room."

"Well Wren won't miss her cues. And neither will you. The lights are dimming, Blaine, get to your place."

"Quick, Kurt, tell me something funny or I'm going to go out there with tear stains."

"Uhm. Okay. The past, the present, and the future all walk into a bar at the same time. . .It was tense."

"Oh my god—_Ha_—That's awful."

"Have you heard the latest construction joke?"

"No?"

"They're still working on it. Now go!"

"Bye."

"Break a leg!"


End file.
